


Let me take it all and give you more

by sorcxita



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Milking, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Milking, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorcxita/pseuds/sorcxita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants to be used; Louis wants to give him what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry is standing exactly where Louis put him after his shower, right up in the corner of the room, legs a shoulder-width apart, bent forward slightly at the waist, face pressed against the wall, hands on his head. There's no cast-iron guarantee that he hasn't moved while Louis' been taking his own shower but from the tense set of Harry's shoulders and the minute tremble in his legs it looks like he's having to work to hold position - and Louis knows Harry doesn't like to let either himself or Louis down.

Louis takes a moment to admire the view while he finishes drying himself. It feels like the first quiet moment he's had all day - he's already checked that both their phones are off and there's no way the real world can force itself on them for a while. And he knows Harry is very aware of both his presence and the fact that Louis is just looking at him, naked and vulnerable, and having to fight even harder to stay still because of it. Louis briefly thinks about being really cruel and leaving him there a while longer but it's much more fun to close up behind Harry and brush across across the sensitive skin on the back of his knee.

"I said, don't _move_ , Harry," he says with mock-sternness as Harry yelps and startles.

"Tickles." Harry sounds odd, like he's trying to keep himself under control. He’s been in a pissy mood all day and not just because Louis let Harry suck him off before breakfast but didn't return the favour: prickly as a hedgehog and about as talkative, sullenly resistant to Louis' attempts to jolly him out of it, until it got to the stage where Louis was starting to lose his temper too. He can’t stop being _aware_ of Harry, that’s the problem, and when Harry is on edge Louis is too, jittery with the burn of it under his skin.

They both need to do something about it, sooner rather than later. Something to restore the equilibrium and get them both back on track.

Humming to himself, Louis gives the other knee the same attention and this time Harry manages not to react, though Louis hears the sharp intake of breath.

"That's better,” he says lightly. “Stand up and turn around."

It's awkward for Harry to push himself away from the wall with his hands still on his head but he manages it without falling over and stands for Louis' inspection, a faint blush staining his cheeks as Louis looks him over with a coolly appraising eye.

"Good thing I didn't let you get dressed, isn't it?" Louis says cheerfully, looking meaningfully at Harry's cock, jutting out proudly and leaking pre-cum. He moves as if he's going to stroke it, teasing, and Harry sways towards his hand, his hips instinctively bucking forward for the friction he’s been denied for hours now.

"No, no," Louis scolds, snatching his hand away.

Harry tries and fails to bite back a small, heartfelt whimper of frustrated need. His cheeks are flushed bright red. Louis has never been able to work out why having to stand like this, naked and with his hands on his head, is so mortifying for someone who has no problem getting naked in front of people the rest of the time, but it is and he can work with that.

"You may as well go and get things ready,” he tells Harry, keeping his voice casual. “I've got to check my email."

He _does_ have to check his email - it's not entirely a lie - but Louis spins it out a bit to give Harry a chance to calm down. And this stage of the evening, he's learnt from experience, _matters_ for Harry in a way Louis doesn’t entirely understand but does appreciate, because if Louis tries to hurry him or take it away from him it'll just end up with both of them resentful and frustrated. The process of settling down with his laptop calms him down too though, and Louis takes the time to write a long reply to one of his cousins, resolutely ignoring the sounds of Harry moving around, getting ready. By the time he’s finally done, Harry has everything set out and is kneeling on a towel on the floor, hands on his head again.

Louis kneels down next to him, a hand in the small of his back encouraging Harry to hold himself a little straighter. When he’s satisfied with Harry’s posture, he says simply:

“Down for me.”

Harry obligingly folds forward, Louis’ hand still in the small of his back, until his head is resting against the floor. Louis takes his time making sure Harry is comfortable - he’s going to be in the same position for a while - and then he picks up the two narrow fabric straps Harry has laid out for him on the floor. Normally he prefers not to bind Harry in any way; he likes Harry to struggle a little bit with the discipline of holding himself still for Louis, holding the position Louis wants him from him. It’s just that sometimes it makes it easier for both of them if Harry can’t move. Louis isn't sure what the straps were meant to be used for originally - Harry bought them home from a shopping trip to B&Q and had already taken them out of the packaging by the time Louis got home - but he’s grateful for whoever came up with the idea of them, while hoping they never find out what use their invention has been put to.

“Arms down by your sides,” he instructs Harry. “Nice and straight for me.”

Harry complies, shuffling around to get his arms flat against the floor so that each of Harry’s wrists rests neatly alongside the corresponding ankle. Louis carefully threads the first strap around Harry’s right wrist and right ankle and pulls it taut with a finger between the strap and Harry’s skin to ensure he doesn’t pull it too tight. He repeats the process on the other side.

"One day," he tells Harry as he fastens the velcro on the second strap, "I'm going to get something proper for this."

"Use Liam's card," Harry says, his voice muffled.

"And get it delivered to his house." Louis grins at the mental picture that brings up.

Harry huffs a laugh, pulling against the straps, testing the restraint. They may not have been designed for it but Louis thinks they work pretty well - especially like this, when Harry is off balance and has no real leverage. And they stop Harry touching his own cock and ensure that Louis gets a perfect view of Harry spread open for him. Louis can’t help taking a moment to appreciate Harry like this, the long lines of his body folded and constrained, leaving him so open and so vulnerable to whatever Louis chooses to do to him. The trust implicit in that takes Louis’ breath away sometimes: when he holds Harry down it’s always on the understanding that Harry could - if he _really_ wanted to - push him away or at least put up some resistance, but when he has Harry like this it’s different and Louis feels the responsibility of it so keenly, that Harry trusts him to such an extent.

“Ok?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. “It’s ok.”

Reassured, Louis reaches for the TV remote and put the TV on, flicking idly through the channels.

"Is _Trisha_ still on?"

"It's a repeat," Harry says, stumbling over his words as Louis' free hand ghosts over his cock. He's still half-hard. Louis shifts his hand and tugs on Harry’s balls, hard enough to make Harry groan and shudder and press his face into the towel as his hands jerk convulsively against the straps binding them.

"I haven't seen it in a while. We'll watch this." Louis takes his hand away and sets the remote back down. He tugs on Harry’s balls again, twisting a little, and Harry’s breathing goes shallow and fast. Louis lets go and turns his attention to the other things Harry has laid out in preparation.

The glass dish he slides underneath Harry’s hips, carefully positioned beneath Harry’s cock, was a present from one of Louis’ distant relatives and Louis hopes he never has to thank her in person for the gift because he’s not sure he could keep a straight face, given what they’ve done with it since. It’s perfect for the job, though, and once he’s happy it’s in the right place, Louis settles himself more comfortably and reaches for the familiar bottle. Harry twitches when Louis pops the cap off, knowing what’s coming.

“Haven’t watched this one” Louis says.

Harry squeaks faintly at the coldness of the lube as Louis eases the first finger into him but otherwise doesn't make a sound. His breathing hitches slightly when Louis goes to two fingers and Louis sees his hands flexing, pulling at the restraining straps.

"That guy looks like Niall, don't you think, Harry?" Louis says conversationally. "Look, Harry."

Harry turns his head so he can see the TV. His face is red again.

"What do you think?" Louis prompts.

"Yeah. Yeah, he looks like Niall." Harry’s voice carries more than a hint of strain and Louis frowns, running his other hand over the small of Harry’s back, feeling the tension in his muscles.

"Do you want to be up a bit?"

Harry hesitates and then nods, and Louis carefully draws his fingers out and goes to fetch the small travel cushion Harry found in a motorway services a few months ago. It slides under Harry's chest, raising his upper body just enough that his face isn't mashed into the floor and his back isn’t curved into such a painful arch.

"Better?" Louis asks.

Harry nods again, failing to hold back a open-mouthed moan as Louis' fingers push into him again. It’s a better angle for both of them and Harry whimpers as Louis’ fingers tease his prostate.

"People pay money for this, you know,” Louis remarks. “And you get it for free."

Harry doesn't respond to that but Louis doesn't expect him to. He keeps up a steady chatter - about the awful couple on _Trisha_ \- "Look at that shirt. He hasn't bought new clothes since the _90s_." - and the weather and the roadworks near his mum's house - and all the time he keeps working on Harry, a steady, insistent circular motion against his prostate, clinical and relentless and focused on one thing and one thing only. This isn't about pleasure for Harry, or getting him hard, or getting him ready to be fucked.

The first few times they did this it took ages - and sometimes it didn't work out at all the way either of them wanted because, even restrained, Harry couldn’t resist the urge to fuck back on Louis’ fingers and Louis didn’t have the willpower to tell him to stop. But Harry has been conditioned now, by himself as much as by anything Louis has done, and he holds himself still and lets it happen, not even twitching as cum starts to spill into the collecting dish. Louis has to duck his head down to look, because he can’t help being fascinated by the way the cum just dribbles out of Harry’s softened cock. He’d asked Harry once what it felt like and Harry had just frowned and mumbled something about _like pissing really slowly, in a good way_ , but Louis knows it’s much, much more than just the physical sensation that Harry likes; it’s all about the combination of Louis taking control of him so completely and the abject humiliation of Louis milking the cum out of him, denying him even the possibility of orgasm.

"Well done," Louis tells him gently, rubbing his back with his free hand. "Good boy."

He's not sure Harry even _hears_ him by that point but Louis keeps up the reassurance anyway as he carries on, determined to milk Harry dry. It always takes more patience than he normally has for anything but it’s worth the effort for the way Harry shivers and twitches with every fresh trickle of cum, and for the soft, despairing moans that spill from his lips as the possibility of orgasm fades. By the time Louis is finally satisfied that he’s milked as much as he possibly can from Harry, Harry is all but collapsed on the floor and Louis' legs are going numb. He slowly draws his fingers out of Harry, loving the way Harry's hole sucks at them, like his body doesn't want to let Louis go, and reaches down with his other hand to unfasten the straps pinning Harry's hands before sliding the cum-splattered dish out from between Harry's legs.

"Kneel up for me,” he says. “Slowly."

It takes Harry a moment to comply with the instruction, still dazed. Louis gets to his feet, wincing at the pins and needles in his legs as he moves to stand in front of Harry. He gets a hand in Harry's hair, tugging his head back so Louis can look at his flushed face and glazed, unfocused eyes.

"Hold still for me,” Louis tells him.

Harry stays where he is while Louis retrieves the dish from the floor. Now that he’s got a proper look at its contents Louis is glad he denied Harry permission to come all day, left Harry to think about what was going to happen, get himself excited. He gets back in front of Harry, shows him the dish.

“Look at that,” he says teasingly. “Think you’re gonna come tonight now, Harry?”

Harry shakes his head minutely, blushing even more furiously. He’s always so mortified when Louis shows him the evidence of his body’s forced betrayal.

“That’s right; you’re not. You can try all you want but you won’t get anywhere.” Louis takes a step back. "Clean up for me," he says, placing the dish on the floor directly in front of Harry.

Harry looks down at the dish, biting his lip

"Come on, Harry. You're a slut for my cum; you may as well drink your own too. Lick it clean."

Harry still doesn’t move. Louis sighs, and gets a hand on the back of Harry’s neck, pushing him down.

"I said, lick it clean. Lick it up for me.”

Harry licks tentatively at the very edge of the dish, pulling a face at the taste. 

“Like that, yeah." Louis lets go of him and goes to wash his hands and fetch himself a drink while Harry finishes licking the dish clean. By the time he comes back Harry is done. "That's better, yeah?" Louis says, stroking a finger across Harry's cheek, fascinated by the blush spreading across his pale skin. "Just looking after you, babe. Want to use you. You like that, don’t you? Me using you to get off."

Harry nods mutely as Louis swipes his thumb across Harry’s lips, wiping away a stray smear of cum.

“This is mine,” Louis tells him, tracing the outline of his mouth, and Harry nods again. Louis gets him on his feet, steadying him, kissing away Harry’s groan of frustration as Louis allows him his hand for three tantalising, torturous strokes. “And _this_ is mine too, isn’t it?”

Harry nods a third time, heavy-lidded and languid and just _content_ in a way he never seems to be at any other time. When they first started doing this - and it had been Harry who’d wanted to try it first, fascinated by the idea of being denied so completely - Louis hadn’t really known how it would work, hadn’t understood that without the release of orgasm Harry would be left on edge, desperate to come but physically unable to do so for _hours_ , if Louis milked him thoroughly enough. Even when he does manage to come, eventually, it'll just be a small spurt of cum, Harry whimpering through a release that looks almost painful.

Louis toys with the idea of just waiting a while, getting Harry hard and riding Harry's cock but he's not feeling particularly patient tonight so he settles himself on the sofa, Harry kneeling between his legs. Harry can't take his eyes off Louis' cock, hard and leaking already, and Louis has to resist the urge to just fuck between those pink, puffy lips, push into the wet heat of Harry's mouth. He gets a hand on Harry's head instead, guiding him down. If he's disappointed at being denied Louis’ cock in his mouth - and maybe he _is_ , because Harry can't seem to get enough of sucking Louis' cock - Harry doesn't show it; he reverently nuzzles Louis' balls instead, just daring to press a soft, fleeting kiss to the base of his cock. Louis sighs and settles back, stroking himself with slow, leisurely strokes as Harry moves lower, his tongue lapping Louis' hole, softly at first and then with more determination, licking him open as Louis' hand works his cock.

“Later, you’re gonna fuck me” he tells Harry, “Get you hard for me so you can fuck me. Fuck me just how I like it.”

Harry’s tongue presses in and Louis groans and spreads his legs wider to give Harry better access. He’d intended to draw this out a bit, make Harry work for his prize, but he’s close already, hand frantically working his cock as Harry licks a slow stripe from his balls to his hole, again and again.

“Want to see your face when you fuck me, Haz. Want to see you trying to come. You won’t be able to, but you’ll try so hard and you’ll want to so bad but you _can’t_ -”

Harry stabs his tongue in deep and Louis has just enough self-control left as his orgasm crashes over him to twist his fingers in Harry's hair and jerk his head up and back, holding Harry in place as he comes over Harry’s upturned face.

Afterwards, Louis can't seem to move at all for a while - every limb heavy and lax - but he opens his eyes to enjoy the sight of Harry splattered with his cum. He's mostly managed to miss Harry's mouth and a lot of it is in Harry's hair - which at any other time Harry would probably be annoyed about - but Harry looks _happy_. Being denied, being used to make Louis as happy as he possibly can, is what Harry needs and wants and Louis wants to give him that, everything he can to repay in kind everything Harry gives so freely to him.

"Good boy," Louis tells him blearily, reaching out to rub behind Harry’s ear. "That was perfect, Haz. Fucking perfect."

Harry beams, turning his head into the touch, satisfied and content.

They shower together, Louis careful to hold Harry close as he washes him clean and afterwards wraps him in a fresh towel and methodically pats him dry.

"Hungry?" he asks.

Harry shakes his head, pressing his face into the crook of Louis' neck as Louis starts to dry his arms. Louis rubs his back soothingly.

"I am though. You make us something to eat, yeah? Don’t want you passing out on me later.” Louis leaves unsaid what _later_ might entail but he feels Harry’s cock twitch against his belly and he grins to himself. He’ll suck Harry first, he decides. Nice and slow and unhurried, until Harry is breathless and desperate and begging for more.

He catches Harry’s arm as Harry is walking out of the bathroom, tugging him close so he can place a hand against Harry’s chest, right over his heart.

“This is mine too,” he tells him, smiling fondly, and Harry smiles too, because they both know that was never in doubt.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Louis normally likes to have the radio on in the kitchen, liking the background noise and the random chatter at this time of night, the drunken callers, the meandering diversions into the most surreal of avenues of conversation. But sometimes he doesn't like the distraction, the intrusion of the outside world. Sometimes he just likes to perch on the countertop, kicking his heels against the cupboard doors, watching Harry. It's just...good, like this. The two of them together, and the quiet peace between them, the lazy smile that tugs at Harry's lips as he cooks for Louis, the way he shivers every time Louis reaches out to him, fingers brushing over his hips, his waist, his wrist; a reassurance, a reminder that Louis is here with him.

"Are you warm enough?" Louis asks, because the window is open and the night air is cold.

Harry blinks and skims a hand across his stomach, as if checking that he's as naked as he thinks he is. "I'm ok," he says eventually.

Louis nods, and tugs at his own t shirt. "Don't burn yourself," he teases, looking pointedly at the pan on the stove. "I'm not taking you to A&E if you do."

"It'd make a good headline."

"Oh yeah." Louis grins at the thought. "Harry Styles burns his cock, I can see it now." And then, because he doesn't want Harry to start thinking about tabloid headlines and paparazzi photos when it’s just them at home, alone and private and _safe_ , he reaches over and takes hold of Harry's wrist to pull him in, smiling to himself as Harry shudders and comes to him, his long limbs warm and lax as he melts against Louis. It feels cruel to tease him, to ghost a hand across his hip, a fingertip brushing against his cock just to see his pupils dilate. It's been _hours_ now - hours that he's kept Harry on edge, never quite giving him enough, denying him the release his body wants so badly, putting that release so far out of reach - and Louis would feel worse about that if he didn't know so very surely how much Harry wants it exactly the way it is.

"Want you to fuck me," Louis whispers, pressing his lips against the soft skin behind Harry's ear, still slightly damp from their shower, and breathes in Harry's warm scent. "You want that, don't you?"

Harry shudders again, his hands reaching out to brace himself against the counter either side of Louis' hips. Louis doesn't have to look down to know that his cock is filling, thickening.

"Don't you, Harry?" he prompts.

Harry sucks in a breath; desperate, ragged. "Y-yeah," he mumbles.

Louis pulls back, breaking contact abruptly. "Don't forget my dinner," he says, voice sharp.

Harry pulls back too, flustered and blushing and stumbling, wide-eyed and, yes, hard. Louis fakes a yawn to hide his smile as Harry tries to regain some composure, and enough mental coherence to remember how to cook an omelette.

"It's not burnt, is it?" Louis asks, looking at the pan.

Harry fusses around the stove, spatula in hand. "No, it's not burnt. When have I ever cooked you something burnt?"

"There was that one time..."

"That was your fault; you distracted me." Harry pretends to frown as he goes over to the fridge. Louis ignores the frown and admires the view instead. "You can go and sit down, if you like,” Harry says. “It's nearly ready. Want a drink?"

"Orange juice."

Louis goes through to the dining room and Harry follows a minute or so later, Louis’ requested drink in hand. Harry smiles dopily when Louis gives him a smile and a _thanks babe_ , and it just feels so _good_ to know how much Harry is willing to give him. Humbling, almost, that it's all for him, that it's him Harry trusts, that it's him Harry gives so much to and no one else.

Harry’s idea of _nearly ready_ turns out to be slightly exaggerated though; Louis would suspect Harry of using the extra time for his own reasons if he couldn't see Harry through the open door, getting out a plate from the cupboard they keep the good plates in, the ones that actually match as a set and don't have cracks in, and carefully washing it because they usually only use those plates when their parents come round. Harry finally comes through, plate in one hand, cutlery in the other, places them on the table in front of Louis, and sinks gracefully to his knees on the floor next to him.

Louis' mouth goes dry - there's just something about the way Harry looks when he's on his knees with his hands folded neatly behind his back that always, always throws him, whether it's done just for him in private or on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans - but still for him. And it's not submission, exactly, not in the way Louis used to think submission was before he met Harry. It's not subservience, it's not Harry grovelling at his feet. It's a simple acknowledgement, that’s all - spoken in a language that is all Harry's own - of everything Harry willingly gives to him and everything Louis is happy to give back in turn.

Louis reaches out to run a hand through Harry's hair, sliding his hand down to cup Harry's chin. "Thanks, babe," he says again. "Looks good."

Harry gazes up at him, smiling, content. He's half-hard now but Louis knows he could have him hard again in seconds if he wanted. He presses his thumb against Harry's lower lip and Harry instinctively opens his mouth so Louis can slide it inside.

"Hungry?" Louis asks.

Harry nods, sucking lightly on Louis’ thumb.

"Ok." Louis pulls his hand back and starts cutting up the omelette. "Just wait."

The omelette isn't burnt at all, and it's every bit as good as Louis knew it would be. He eats the first few bites, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry waits patiently, back straight, head up. Louis cuts up a piece for him and holds it out on the fork, swallowing thickly as Harry demurely glances up at him before craning his neck forward to take the food into his mouth.

"Eat up," Louis tells him, unnecessarily, to cover his own distraction. “I was thinking,” he adds conversationally. “I want it to try it, one time, a bit different.”

“Like what?” Harry takes another bite of offered food.

“Not so cruel,” Louis says, rubbing his thumb behind Harry’s ear.

“You’re not cruel,” Harry says immediately, and Louis can’t help smiling at how quick Harry is to defend him, even from himself.

“I am, a bit,” he says. “Sometimes. I just- Maybe you should get more out of it when I-” He hesitates, trying to think of the words, and settles for a hand gesture instead.

Harry laughs.

“It’s not funny,” Louis says, trying to look stern. He suspects he isn’t really pulling it off. “You know what I mean.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry says patiently, in that tone of voice that means he thinks the discussion’s over.

“What? I want to see you come and you … don’t, and this is a compromise. You’d come but not. Not properly, anyway. Just get you close and, um, stop. Touching you. You’d come but it wouldn’t be…good. I think.”

Louis knows he’s blushing and Harry doesn’t say anything for a while, long enough that Louis thinks he isn’t going to reply at all. Or maybe he’s confused by Louis’ incoherence. Louis’ fairly sure he’s confused _himself_. He’s spent more time online than he’s entirely comfortable with, clicking through site after site in an attempt to pin down exactly what he wants for Harry.

“What do you think?” he prompts, when Harry still isn’t responding. “I just- I just want to try something, and you might like it.”

Harry blinks. “Maybe I would,” he says simply, and smiles, and Louis finds himself smiling back.

“You would, would you?” he teases, rubbing behind Harry’s ear again. Later, he decides, he might just show Harry the bookmark folder on his laptop: letting Harry read Louis’ research on ruined orgasms is infinitely less embarrassing than Louis trying to explain it to him.

“Yeah, I would.” Harry smiles again; a small, sly smile. “You know I’ll try anything.”

“Harry,” Louis complains, reaching down to adjust himself. “Trying to eat here.”

Harry smirks unrepentantly.

They share the rest of the omelette, and Louis' orange juice too, Louis tipping the glass so Harry can drink from it. When they're done, Harry gets to his feet, wobbling a little, and clears away.

“Leave the washing up,” Louis says when he follows Harry into the kitchen. Harry pouts a little.

“It just has to go in the dishwasher.”

“Leave it.” Louis crowds him up against the wall, taking hold of Harry’s wrists to hold him still. “It can wait. I have plans.”

He _feels_ Harry sucking in a breath, the uptick in his heart rate. Louis grins to himself.

“Sound good?” he presses.

Harry shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Maybe.”

Louis pushes in a little more, angling his body so he’s holding Harry’s arms tight but not giving Harry too much friction where he wants it the most. Harry’s face is flushed and he licks his lips nervously.

“Does it feel good, like this?” Louis asks.

Harry nods.

“You know you’re not going to come, right?” Louis presses.

Harry’s response is a whole-body shiver; his eyes flicker closed and his breathing quickens. He nods again and Louis can’t help it; he has to lean in even more and breathe in Harry’s scent, feel the heat of his body and the rapid pulse in his throat. Harry’s intoxicating like this, a drug Louis can’t get enough of, never wants to get enough of.

“Stay still for me,” he instructs Harry, and releases his hold on Harry’s wrists so he can trace across the birds on Harry’s chest with his fingertips, rub lightly at a nipple. Harry bites his lip and stares fixedly ahead as Louis’ fingers dip lower, outlining the butterfly, skating across Harry’s hipbones. He comes close to moving when Louis sinks gracefully to his knees in front of him, but he manages to hold still in the end, his hands balling into fists as he fights to maintain control.

“Good boy,” Louis praises. “You’re doing really well.”

Harry nods, not even blinking. His cock - hard now, and flushed at the tip - is right in front of Louis’ face. Louis wants to taste him so badly, wants to take Harry apart, wants to hear and feel Harry scream and tremble in ecstasy. But he won’t get that, not tonight, and that’s ok. There are other nights, other days.

“Want you to fuck me now,” he says conversationally, leaning in so his breath ghosts across Harry’s skin. Harry’s hips jerk forward minutely, an instinctive movement he can’t quite hold back. Louis grins to himself. “You like the sound of that, don’t you?” he says teasingly. He wraps his hand around the base of Harry’s cock and Harry’s knees nearly give out.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbles.

“Want to be inside me, don’t you? Fucking me the way you like.” Louis leans forward and touches the tip of his tongue to the head of Harry’s cock, a fleeting touch that has Harry whining, his hands scrabbling at the wall. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says breathlessly. “Please. Please, Lou.”

Louis pushes himself to his feet, careful to stay right up in Harry’s space without giving either of them friction. He’s starting to wish he hadn’t bothered getting dressed again, because his jeans are almost painfully tight and every movement is sweet agony. He pulls his t shirt over his head and drops it to the floor and then he slowly, deliberately unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops of his jeans. Harry watches, unblinking.

“Come on then,” Louis says authoritatively. “Bed.” He loops the belt around the back of Harry’s neck and pulls, drawing Harry towards him and away from the wall.

Harry comes easily; pliant, happy to be led. Louis leads him into the bedroom and positions him with his back against the wall, facing the bed, Louis’ belt still looped around his shoulders. He leaves him there while he strips off his jeans and climbs onto the bed, arranging himself comfortably in the middle of the bed so Harry can see him clearly.

“This what you want?” He doesn’t have to ask; Harry is watching intent and unblinking as Louis starts to stroke himself leisurely. “You want to fuck me?”

Harry nods, a little desperately. Louis relents.

“Come on then,” he says, beckoning him over.

Harry stumbles and nearly falls in his rush to get on the bed; Louis sits up and catches hold of his arms, steadying him while Harry gets his balance.

“Hey,” he chides, rearranging the belt. “Slow down. Unless you want to put me in A&E.”

Harry bites his lip, flustered, blushing under Louis’ stern gaze.

“You are way too excitable, Harry.” Louis leans over and reaches for the bedside table, searching out what he wants. Lube, condom; he tosses them over to Harry. “Get yourself ready. Hurry up.”

Louis knows he hardly has to encourage Harry; he’s so desperate to get inside Louis his hands are shaking. Louis lies back against the pillows and just watches, stroking himself lazily.

“Do you want-”

“Just fuck me.” Louis gives Harry a reassuring smile. “I know you want to.”

“Yeah,” Harry admits. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. “Yeah, ok. How do you-”

“I want to watch you,” Louis says, grinning to himself as Harry shudders. “Get on with it.”

He lets his body go slack as Harry’s hands settle against his hips, carefully moving him, lifting him, still shaking a little even when he’s finally, finally pressing into him because they don’t often fuck like this; Louis likes to stretch Harry out and ride him, usually. Louis’ eyes flutter closed as Harry eases into him, and he bites his lip as Harry pushes deeper, because Harry feels _huge_ inside him. It’s not pain, exactly, but it’s not pleasure either.

“Hold still,” he tells Harry, and Harry immediately stops moving, his hands still gripping Louis’ hips.

Louis reaches for his own cock, softened slightly, and strokes himself back to full hardness, and it’s easier then, his body adjusting to Harry inside him. He opens his eyes and Harry is watching him closely, concern written all over his features. Louis reaches up and pets his cheek, a reassuring touch that Harry immediately turns in to, tilting his head so Louis can rub behind his ear.

“Do you want to…” Harry breaks off, moaning softly, as Louis grinds himself down on Harry’s cock.

“I want you to fuck me like this,” Louis tells him. He reaches up and snags hold of the belt that still hangs around Harry’s neck. “Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” Harry stammers as Louis tugs on the belt, encouraging him on, guiding him into the rhythm he wants.

Louis knows he isn’t going to come like this. The angle’s all wrong for him and he’s deliberately not touching himself as Harry fucks him at the tortuously slow pace Louis demands. He’s happy to watch Harry for now; wide-eyed and flushed, and struggling so very hard not to just fuck in to Louis as rough and as fast as he wants to.

Louis reaches up, pinches Harry’s nipple between his fingers, smiling to himself as Harry shudders and moans in response. He does it again, just to see Harry lose a little more composure.

“Lou, please-” Harry says breathlessly. “Can- can I-”

Louis eyes him thoughtfully. “Stop,” he tells him. “That’s enough.”

Harry stares helplessly at him, his eyes huge and wet with unshed tears, his chest heaving. Louis pats his arm.

“I said that’s enough.”

Harry actually _whines_.

“Clean up and go and stand back where you were.” Louis is proud of how controlled his voice sounds. He lets go his hold on the belt and Harry blinks, bites his lip, and finally nods. He carefully - very carefully - pulls out and Louis purposefully doesn’t watch him because he knows that one look at Harry’s face and he won't be able to do what he needs to. He listens though, making sure there’s no wheezing to Harry’s rapid, shuddering breaths, and he waits until Harry is once again standing against the wall before he starts to stroke himself, slowly at first and then with determination. He hears a small, choked sound from the other side of the room but Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move in Louis’ peripheral vision.

He makes that sound again when Louis comes all over his stomach.

Louis hasn’t got the energy to _move_ in the aftermath, yet alone speak, but he manages to raise his hand enough to beckon Harry over and Harry practically runs to the bed, kneeling over Louis’ thighs and pressing the flat of his tongue to Louis’ skin to lick off every last trace of come. Louis waits until he’s done and then he tugs on Harry’s arm, encouraging him to move up until he’s straddling Louis’ hips, his still-hard cock between them.

“That looks painful,” Louis says drowsily, wrapping his come-streaked hand around Harry’s cock. Harry arcs his back, whimpering softly as Louis strokes him. “Do you want to come now?”

“Please,” Harry says, his voice little more than a whisper. “Please, Lou. Please- I need-”

“What do you need?” Louis strokes him harder, merciless. “Do you think you can come, Harry?”

“Yes- Please, this time I can-” Harry’s hands clench uselessly at his sides and that gives Louis an idea. He reaches out with his free hand and grabs the discarded lube.

“Here,” he tells Harry. “You can finger yourself, if you want.”

There’s something beautiful, he thinks as he lies back more comfortably against the pillows, about watching Harry like this, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as he fucks himself on his fingers while Louis strokes his cock, open-mouthed, panting, flushed, and so very, very desperate. It has to hurt, he thinks. Has to be borderline _too-much_ as Harry frantically tries for something, _anything_ to push him over the edge.

“You’re not going to come,” he tells Harry, and it’s probably a good thing that Harry is too distracted to notice how breathless Louis is.

“No, no-” Harry shakes his head in denial. “No, I can- Just-”

He’s so insistent, so determined, and Louis is torn between exasperation and fond amusement because he knows Harry won’t. He’s never been able to work out whether it’s that Harry physically _can’t_ after Louis has milked him or whether the need Harry has to be denied is strong enough to overwhelm his body’s desperate, mindless need to come.

“Enough,” Louis says eventually, when Harry is almost sobbing with frustration. He doesn’t want Harry to hurt himself and he knows that the friction of his hand on Harry’s cock has gone from mostly pleasurable to uncomfortable. “Enough now.”

“P-please,” Harry says brokenly, and Louis suspects he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for any more.

“It’s all right,” he says soothingly, drawing Harry down towards him and wrapping his arms around him. “I’ve got you. It’s ok.”

Harry presses his face into the crook of Louis’ neck and just _clings_ , out of breath and trembling with exhaustion and frustration. Louis holds him close, telling him how perfect he is, how much Louis loves him, how good he’s made Louis feel, and Harry’s breathing slowly quietens as he calms and settles.

“Better?” Louis asks gently, after a while. He’s rolled them onto their sides and Harry is tucked up against him. Louis can feel that he’s still half-hard and his instinct is to take care of it for him, but he doesn’t because it’s what Harry wants, to go to sleep knowing that Louis has used him for his own pleasure and left him unsatisfied and denied. It makes him happy and Louis wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his days making Harry happy.

“Cold,” Harry says sleepily.

Louis pulls the duvet up around him, tucking him in carefully. “I’ll get you a drink. Want a bag of crisps?”

Harry nods again, not even opening his eyes. Louis reluctantly disentangles himself and gets out of bed, not bothering to get dressed as he heads for the kitchen.

The window’s still open, the cold air raising goose bumps on his skin. Louis quickly gets a couple of cans out of the fridge for them both and takes them back along with the crisps.

Harry cracks an eye open when Louis climbs onto the bed. “Can I-” he starts. “There’s some dip in the fridge.”

“You want dip as well?” Louis says with mock-annoyance. “What did your last slave die of?”

Harry’s lips quirk into a smile. “It’s behind the margarine,” he says.

Louis snorts, but he goes and fetches the dip, because there’s never truly been any doubt about who’s really in charge.


End file.
